Tongue of Angels
by Outlaw Volunteer
Summary: Daydreaming during class can have disastrous consequences. Just ask Isadora.


**A/N:** **Hola, Snicketmigos! Sorry, had to take a small break from** ** _Into the Fire_** **. Had to change up the scenery in my life a bit. You in the mood for some Kladora? Heeheehee, excellent. You can** _ **always**_ **count on me to write you a Kladora, peeps. Enjoy! Kladora or DIE! ;) \m/ But before we begin, gotta thank all my awesome reviewers out there:** _yo ho_ **,** _Unknown_ **,** _Guest_ **,** _Guest_ **,** _Millie Hudson_ **,** _Guest_ **, and** _Cheryblosom-chan_ **. You guys rock!**

 **.**

 ** _yo ho_** _––– Oh my God, you're right, I made a huuuuge boo-boo. For some odd reason I thought inches were part of the metric system. -_-' I'm such a f*cking idiot... Thanks for pointing that out, I'll fix it._

 ** _Unknown_** _––– ^_^_

 ** _Guest_** _––– Yes, a walk ;)_

 ** _Guest_** _––– Shanks :) Glad you liked it._

 ** _Millie Hudson_** _–––_ _Sorry, my dear. This story is only a one-shot. T_T Nothing's changed about it, I just condensed it into one big chapter instead of two like before. That's why it appears "updated". But if you want_ more _Kladora, check out some of my other stuff. They're my OTP, so expect a lot of those two from me. ;) Thanks again for reading!_

 ** _Guest_** _––– Sorry, my friend, this's only a one-shot. But if you want_ more _Kladora, check out some of my other stuff. They're my OTP, so expect a lotta them from me. ;)_

 _ **Cheryblosom-chan**_ _––– Thanks! Glad you liked it. ^_^ They're my OTP, so expect a_ lot _of them from me. ;) And I hate to say it, but this is gonna stay a one-shot. :(_  
 _Buuuuuut! If _you want__ more __Kladora, check out some of my other stuff. :)__

 _ _Kladora or DIE!__

 **.**

 **Disclaimer:** **Me** _ **still**_ **no own ASOUE. T_T**

 _ **WARNING! RATED T FOR:**_ _ **LANGUAGE AND SUGGESTIVE CONTENT**_

* * *

 ** _Tongue of Angels_**

* * *

"Measure!" Mrs. Bass screeched after slamming a random object down on everyone's desk.

A unanimous groan filled the air as her class hopped to it, measuring as fast as they could before she had a chance to squawk at them again. Heck, a dying parrot sounded like Carrie Underwood next to the noise that came out of her mouth.

Isadora blinked at the cat skeleton in front of her, its fearsome grin making her spine shiver. As if the school's motto, mascot, and architecture weren't unnerving enough. Now she had to measure a cat's remains that smelled like every rotten thing in the world combined? _Why's Prufrock so obsessed with death?_ she wondered, reluctantly picking up her battered ruler.

"Donnie!" Mrs. Bass hollered, leaning forward on her desk, scowling authoritatively at him. "What's the length of your purple sock in centimeters?"

The kid in the front left corner of the class looked down at the crumpled sheet of paper in front of him. "Um…a foot."

"In _centimeters_ , not urban slang?" Mrs. Bass huffed sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

Donnie blushed fiercely, lowering his head in embarrassment, some of the kids in the back snickering at his misfortune. "Thirty centimeters," he mumbled timidly.

"That's better. Laura! What's the length of your paper clip in centimeters?" Mrs. Bass inquired the girl behind him.

"Three centimeters," Laura said promptly.

"Correct!" Mrs. Bass beamed at her, then cast a dirty scowl at Donnie. "See how that's done, Donnie?"

Feeling his classmates' eyes on him again, Donnie merely shrunk down in his seat, his cheeks burning.

Mrs. Bass smiled cruelly, her heartless black eyes shining with satisfaction. "Rob!" she called, looking at the boy behind Laura. "Length of your fork in centimeters?"

Isadora looked up at the clock above the chalkboard, then put her head down on her desk, sighing irritably. Still a half hour left of this hell. _Ugh, kill me now,_ she begged silently. She looked to the left at her only lifeline, besides her older brother, of course. There sat tall, chiseled Klaus Baudelaire, who was too caught up in measuring his toy car's length to notice how lustfully she was staring at him. Ohhh, to be that car on his desk…what she wouldn't give to be that car on his desk. He'd only transferred to Prufrock just a couple months ago, but she felt like she'd known him a lifetime. He was sweet, funny, smart––– _very_ smart. And _hot_. _Very_ hot. She never knew a guy could be all four and not get arrested for it. Her eyes wandered down his face and eventually landed on his lips. Ohh, those lips…what did those divine creations taste like? She had to know. Subliminally, she licked hers, preparing herself, just in case. Never had she felt a rush like this before. Sure, she had crushes in the past, but not like this one. They didn't even qualify as crushes next to the one she had on Klaus. Instead, they were more like acquaintances…mere acquaintances.

"Five and an eighth inches," Isadora heard him say after a minute, his deep, deep voice suddenly morphing into the dark, mysterious ocean beneath her boat, rocking it all about violently. Hell, the waves were so brutal that she was surprised she hadn't capsized yet. Even sitting in her seat on dry land she felt seasick. How did he do that? He wasn't even paying the slightest bit of attention to her and she was already fighting for air, almost like the time Carmelita and her gang had knocked the wind out of her a couple weeks ago on her way to lunch.

After much difficulty, Isadora finally tore her eyes off the Greek god across the aisle and looked down at her pitch black notebook, which was opened to the page she'd been working on this morning before school started. But it wasn't measurements and notes from Mrs. Bass's class she'd been working on, no sirrie. Instead, it was numerous couplets…about that particular Greek god across the aisle. Hoping this would help her calm down and catch her breath, she began rereading her work:

.

 _Unexpected, a bolt from the blue_

 _Electrified, all I can do is stare at you_

 _A Greek god has fallen from Olympus_

 _Into the pits of Hell…amongst us_

 _Incredible luck, the perfect hand dealt_

 _But the ice encasing my soul refuses to melt_

 _One day, these clouds will part_

 _And reveal to you the truth hiding in my heart_

.

Isadora sighed, unconvinced. Lord Byron was turning in his grave right now, she could just feel it. It was _far_ from perfect…but, it _was_ a start.

 _CRACK!_ Mrs. Bass slapped Isadora's ruler down on her desktop.

" _Thirty-five and a half centimeters!_ " Isadora blurted fearfully, startled.

The class laughed, Mrs. Bass, however, did not. Gulping quietly, Isadora looked up to find her teacher peering down her tapered nose at her, her eyes narrowed. "Correct…in La-La Land," she growled darkly. "Daydreaming _again_ , Miss Quagmire?"

Isadora's cheeks flushed an impressive shade of red, the class's eyes glued on _her_ this time. "Uh…no?" she managed to squeak.

"Looks to me you were," Mrs. Bass insisted, her lips curling into a sickening smile.

"N-no, I measured it," Isadora said quickly. "It's thirty-five and a half centimeters."

"Incorrect."

Isadora's face scrunched in confusion. "What?"

"I _said_ , in _millimeters_ ," Mrs. Bass repeated curtly.

 _What?!_ Isadora thought frantically. "Everybody else got to do centimeters," she protested.

"You're not everybody else," Mrs. Bass said coolly. "You're special."

 _Yay,_ Isadora thought grumpily. "Uhh…okay…um…" Quickly, she did the math in her head. "Umm…three-hundred fifty-five millimeters?" she guessed after a minute.

"Wrong again," Mrs. Bass said, that sickening smile returning on her face.

Isadora felt her heart sink. She did the math like Klaus had shown her the other day, how could she be wrong? "What?"

"I asked for the _height_ in millimeters."

Isadora's gaze fell down to her cat skeleton, her eyes wide with terror. "Uhhh…"

"That's what I thought," Mrs. Bass said, almost triumphantly. She leaned forward, looking at Isadora's notebook curiously. "Writing poetry…in _my_ class?" she snarled.

"N-no!" Isadora said anxiously, flipping her notebook shut immediately.

"Well why don't you share with us what you wrote, if that's _so_ much more important than _my_ class," Mrs. Bass sneered.

"Wh-what?!" Isadora felt her heart take a leap of faith off the tallest building in her body.

"Please," Mrs. Bass motioned for her to stand.

Mortified, Isadora daringly glanced at Klaus, who gave her an apologetic half smile. With as much as he wanted to, there was nothing he could do to save her from this. Her legs feeling like Jell-O, Isadora slowly stood up and followed Mrs. Bass to the front of the classroom reluctantly.

"Go on. Speak!" Mrs. Bass barked after walking behind her desk.

Isadora looked out at the class, swallowing nervously. A sea of blank faces stared back at her, most of them clearly uninterested in what she (and Mrs. Bass) had to say. Klaus, however, tipped his head, looking quite the opposite. She was a hell of a poet–––he couldn't wait to hear what she'd come up with this time.

"We're _waiting_ , Miss Quagmire," Mrs. Bass sighed testily, tapping her foot. "We'll stay after the bell if we have to."

The class moaned. "C'mon, cakesniffer, spit it out!" one of Carmelita's friends yelled maliciously from the back of the class. "You hold me after the bell and I'll hold you by the throat!"

Isadora opened her mouth, but no words were brave enough to come forth. She looked down at her notebook cradled in her shaky hands, then, after a moment of mustering up every ounce of courage she could find within her, opened it to the page the soul-bearing couplets were scribbled on. She took a deep, quivery breath, then took a leap of faith herself.

"I would rather eat a bowl of vampire bats–––"

"That's not how it starts," Mrs. Bass interrupted, smiling cruelly. "I've read it all and that's _not_ how it starts."

Isadora's eyes widened. _Shoot!_ she thought frantically. _I totally forgot she had an elephant's memory._ She gulped again, trying not to flinch. "U-u-unexpected…a-a bolt from the blue…electrified, all I can do is stare at you… A Greek god…has fallen from Olympus…i-into the pits of Hell…amongst us… In…incredible luck…perfect hand dealt…but the"–––here she swallowed hard, fighting not to throw up–––"but the ice…encasing my soul…refuses to melt… One day…these clouds will part…and reveal to you…the truth…hiding inside my heart…"

Much to Isadora's horror, the class burst out laughing, including Mrs. Bass, Carmelita's friend's laughing the loudest. Only Klaus didn't laugh. He looked both moved and aggravated, but about what, she couldn't tell, mostly because she was looking down at her feet, fighting not to cry.

"Ewww, the cakesniffer's in love!" one of the kids in the back hollered, wrinkling her nose in disgust, some following her up with another loud "Ewww!".

"Boo, you suck, cakesniffer!" one of Carmelita's friends shouted, then picked up the Ping-Pong paddle she was assigned to measure and chucked it at Isadora, nailing her right in the face.

The class laughed harder as Isadora's hands flew up to baby her nose, which felt like it was on fire. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying for the torture to stop. What did she do in a past life to deserve this?

"Ow! What the hell, cakesniffer?!"

Isadora opened her eyes, puzzled. She didn't hurt her…she didn't do _anything_. What was her problem _now_? She looked up to find the girl rubbing her head, glaring at somebody in the middle of the class.

"You can't hit a girl!" the girl spat heatedly.

"I'm sorry, your behavior was so unladylike that I mistook you for a guy," Klaus snorted.

"Ooooooooh," the class said in unison, stunned. They knew Carmelita's friends were capable of such monstrosities, but Klaus?

"Mr. Baudelaire!" Mrs. Bass snapped, practically foaming at the mouth.

"What?" Klaus turned back around in his seat to look at her.

"Detention!" Mrs. Bass screeched furiously.

"Wha–––? Why me?" Klaus complained.

"For acting like a two-year-old, that's why!"

"Are you blind?" Klaus couldn't help yelling, and the class held their breath. "Did you not see the paddle she just threw at Isadora?"

Mrs. Bass's eyes narrowed dangerously. " _Two_ days detention!"

"Wha–––?"

" _Three_ days!"

Realizing the deck was stacked against him, and rather unfairly at that, Klaus buttoned up before she could up the ante again.

Mrs. Bass glared at him for a moment, then she leaned forward on her desk toward Isadora. "And as for _you_ , Miss Quagmire, you can join him today! And I swear to God if I catch you daydreaming or writing sub-par love letters in my class again, I'll see you after school the rest of the trimester! Do you understand?!"

Isadora nodded timidly, her cheeks setting a new record for blush intensity.

"Now sit down!" Mrs. Bass barked.

Avoiding eye contact with the class, Isadora made her way back to her seat and sat down, ready to crawl under her desk and hide. Detention…she couldn't believe it. She'd never been to detention before. But judging by the tone of her teacher's voice, she could tell it wasn't going to be pretty. She lie her head down on her desktop and hid her face in her arms. This was going to be a _long_ day.

* * *

/

* * *

" _Detention?_ " Duncan's eyebrows rose in astonishment.

"Yeah," Isadora mumbled, poking at her meatloaf grumpily, refusing to look up.

Duncan blinked at her, not knowing what to say. The news she'd just dropped was like saying Count Olaf and noble in the same sentence: impossible. "Look, if you were Quigley, I'd believe you. He's brought millions of those slips home. But you? I don't buy it."

"Yes, I did, Duncan," Isadora insisted testily, flashing back to the unfortunate events that had occurred earlier that morning.

"Prove it."

With a growl, Isadora dug into her uniform pocket and threw the detention slip her brother's way.

Duncan took the slip in his hands and examined it carefully. He'd never received a Prufrock detention slip, much less a detention slip in general, but right under the school's motto and dead horse mascot was the word _DETENTION_ in bold, fancy script. His eyes widened. He stood corrected: history had just been made. His journalistic instincts began to tingle. He _had_ to find out why his sister of all people had been deemed a delinquent in the eyes of the educators. "'Isadora Quagmire is hereby sentenced to detention on the account of dedicating her time to fabricating sub-par love letters rather than learning about the metric system,'" he read. Fighting to keep a straight face, he handed it back to her, knowing perfectly well her motive behind her actions. "Oh," he said simply.

Isadora scowled at the burgundy and gold slip in her hand. _Stupid Mrs. Bass,_ she thought. _Ashleigh throws a Ping-Pong paddle at me and I_ still _get in trouble. This isn't fair!_

 _SLAM!_ Isadora looked up to find a tray of colorful food across from her, a frustrated Klaus hovering over it like a dark storm cloud. Hurriedly, she looked back down at her slip, blushing.

"What's wrong with you?" Violet asked, taken aback.

Klaus sat down and looked at her, his face blank. "Nothing. Why?" he said matter-of-factually, picking up his fork.

"Slamming a tray down is the new definition of nothing?" Violet asked.

Klaus thought for a minute. "It _is_ , actually," he tried with a smile.

Violet looked at him skeptically. "Klaus, _what's_ going on?"

"Nothing," Klaus said again. Seeing how unconvinced she was, as well as Sunny and the Quagmires, he sighed heavily and spilled the beans. "I got detention, okay?"

Duncan's jaw dropped. This _had_ to be a dream. How could Isadora and Klaus _both_ get detention the same day? …Oh wait, never mind. He had a theory. " _What?_ " he breathed. " _You_ got detention, too?"

Violet's eyebrows rose, this ball coming completely out of left field. "What'd _you_ do?"

Klaus took his detention slip out of his uniform pocket and handed it to her. "'Klaus Baudelaire is hereby sentenced to detention on the account of dedicating his time to infantile mannerisms rather than respecting his superiors,'" she read.

"Wuggatoo," Sunny piped up, which probably meant something like, "I'm offended."

"Oh my God, what did you do?" Duncan asked, leaning in, a curious gleam in his eyes.

"In English? Defended her," Klaus explained, then smiled at Isadora. Her insides shaking uncontrollably, she gave him a shy, thankful smile and looked back down at her slip. She couldn't believe it. He actually defended her in front of everyone. _And_ talked back to a teacher. He really _was_ a true blue friend… A _hot_ true blue friend.

She sighed mournfully. If only she had the courage to actually say she loved him… _One day,_ she told herself. _One day._

* * *

/

* * *

"Alright, class!" Mrs. Bass hollered over the bell as everybody scrambled out of their seats over to the door. "Remember, test Friday! And those scores had better be higher this time or Vice Principal Nero will be in here as your motivational speaker!"

Klaus and Isadora hurried after them, eager to escape the hawk's nest.

"And where do you two think _you're_ going?" Mrs. Bass inquired in a sneer.

Hearts freezing in their tracks, Klaus and Isadora looked around to find the hawk eyeing its prey angrily. "I thought detention was in Mr. Zander's room?" Isadora asked.

"Not today it's not!" Mrs. Bass barked, then pointed at the desks. "Sit!"

Klaus and Isadora shared a look of disgust camouflaged as confusion, then retreated back to their assigned seats.

Mrs. Bass walked around her desk over to the two, the glare on her pallid face not letting up one bit. She made her way down the aisle separating them and stopped between the desks in front of theirs. She looked at Isadora, holding out her hand.

"What?" Isadora asked, tilting her head in puzzlement.

"You know what," Mrs. Bass said rigidly.

Isadora continued to look at her questioningly. That could mean anything from the ruler inside her desk to her actual soul.

"Notebook!"

Isadora winced. Yep, it was her soul. Reluctantly, she reached into her uniform pocket and pulled out the only thing that helped her breathe in this oxygen-deprived world.

Mrs. Bass snatched it rudely out of her hand. "This's the third time this year, Miss Quagmire! And I'm _tired_ of it!" she fumed. "If I catch you writing any more sub-par love letters in my class again, you'll have a permanent assigned seat in Vice Principal Nero's office! Understand?!"

Her cheeks burning again, Isadora nodded, looking down at her desktop. She didn't need to be told twice.

Mrs. Bass looked at Klaus. "And as for _you_ , Mr. Baudelaire, if I catch you acting like a child again, I'll be sure to phone Mr. Poe about finding you a new guardian to live with! Got it?!"

Klaus nodded.

"I'll be back with your assignment. I have a _special_ one picked out for you two." With that, she stormed out of Room Two, slamming the door behind her.

Awkward silence filled the air for a minute, then the dam on Klaus's mouth broke and out flowed a flood of chuckling…sweet, melodious chuckling. "Aw, that's cute," he grinned, shaking his head. "She doesn't know what 'sub-par' means."

Throwing back a shot of courage, Isadora looked at him. "No, she does," she said quietly, sounding rather defeated. Mrs. Bass _was_ right about the sub-par part: this wasn't her best. Hell, it wasn't even close to _sub-par_.

Klaus looked at her, crushed that she would even agree with such a vile woman. He thought for a moment. "She said "tongue of angels" wrong."

Blushing, Isadora's ears perked up. She took another shot of courage and looked at him again. "I don't think _you_ know what "tongue of angels" means," she smiled shyly.

"I _know_ what "tongue of angels" means," Klaus assured her kindly. _Man_ his smile was beautiful. "So who's the lucky guy?"

"Oh, uh…" Isadora stuttered, racking her brain for something clever. "Y-you don't know him."

"Bet I do," Klaus challenged.

Isadora bit her lip, then said the first random name that came to mind. "Robby Fisher."

Klaus laughed. "There's no Robby Fisher that goes here," he told her, calling her bluff. "I've seen the whole list of students that go here. There's a Robby _Finewell_ and a _Brent_ Fisher, but there's no Robby Fisher."

Isadora gulped. _Is there_ anything _he doesn't know?_ she wondered. "Uhh… I-I don't know."

"Those couplets sounded pretty deep to me. You don't just write that about someone you don't know or care about. I mean, I'm no poet, but that's just common sense."

Isadora felt like she was going to throw up. She was shaking like a frightened Chihuahua, her head was spinning like she'd just got off an insane amusement park ride, and her mouth was so dry that all the water in the world couldn't quench it. Mrs. Bass's class was already awkward enough with her being humiliated on a daily basis in front of her classmates, but to have awkward encounters with Klaus if he discovers her true feelings for him? No…she couldn't have that. She _wouldn't_ have that.

"Isadora?" Klaus asked, concerned. "You alright?"

"Uhh…" Isadora managed to squeak, her heart thumping madly in her throat. Her vision started to blur.

"Isadora!" Klaus cried, springing out of his seat to catch her before she could hit the floor.

* * *

/

* * *

"Isadora… Isadora, hey!" Klaus slapped her cheek gently, examining every inch of her to make sure she was alright.

"H-Huh?" Isadora opened her eyes to find Klaus's face hovering above her, the look in his eyes tense. "Wh…what happened?"

"You passed out for a few," Klaus explained. "You alright?"

"Uh…uh-huh…" Isadora breathed, but she didn't really sound convinced. She looked up into his eyes, those beautiful, caring dark eyes, and tried to catch her breath. Everything about him was just so… _perfect_. There was no way she deserved such a magnificent specimen such as Klaus Baudelaire. He was a Greek god that fell from Olympus, and she was an unworthy demon from Hell, yet, somehow, she was lying in his arms…those thick, chiseled arms. And he didn't seem to mind. Before long, she caught herself staring numbly at his lips…and caught him doing the same to her.

"Y'know…uh…I've always wondered what a tongue of angels tastes like," Klaus said quietly after awhile. …Wait, was he _blushing_?

"Me, too," Isadora said, borderline hypnotically. She glanced down at his lips again, Klaus doing the same, then, before they knew it, their lips were locked and their curiosity was settled. As their kiss deepened, she realized she was right: they _did_ taste divine. A divineness that not even Lord Byron could describe. She could only pray that he felt the same about her, too.

"What are you three doing?!" they heard a familiar hawk squawk from down the hall. "Quit horsing around and get back to your dorms!"

Immediately, Klaus and Isadora broke apart and looked fearfully at the door. Klaus looked back down at her curiously. "You free later?"

"Huh? …Oh uh…th-that depends…a-are you?" Isadora stuttered with a sheepish smile.

"I am if you are."

"We can ditch the recital tonight. Y'know…go for a walk?" Isadora offered. Whoa…where did _this_ sudden rebellion come from? Did he do surgery on her personality while she was out? Never was she this bold about something, especially guys.

"If that's what you wanna call it," Klaus shrugged, his voice deepening, his smile more devilish now.

"O-only in front of the others," Isadora giggled bashfully, her blush worsening.

They shared one last secret smile before the knob started to turn, then they sprung off the floor and back into their seats. It didn't matter if Mrs. Bass or the devil himself came through that door–––they were going for a walk later.

And that was all that mattered.


End file.
